


Portland

by WriteThroughTheNight



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cliche, Clint stupid, Flirting, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), phil being oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteThroughTheNight/pseuds/WriteThroughTheNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson isn't Clint's and he never will be, but sometimes the archer can delude himself, pretend he has a chance. He needs moments like this to remind him.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>The one where Phil gets hit on, and Clint is jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portland

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, instead of my WIPs I found and edited this. I sincerely give up.
> 
> As usual all mistakes are my own, and enjoy.

The op in Portland is a milk run, more appropriate for junior agents than two level six's, but that's on purpose. It's Ph-Coulson's first operation since the doctors cleared him for duty. It's also Clint's first op since Psych cleared him, since his single-minded murderous rampage after Coulson went down. After Cairo, they both need a chance to ease back into things.

Natasha is on mission somewhere in Europe, has been for weeks. Clint and Coulson are checking out a suspected HYDRA cell, recon and nothing more.

It goes perfectly, Clint slipping in and out of the facility without being caught; Coulson never even has to leave the surveillance van. Something in him releases when Clint sees his handler completely unharmed, actually appearing bored if Clint's reading him right. Neither of them are used to operations running unhindered.

Together, they head back to the hotel, where they'll spend the night before taking a nine a.m. flight the next day.

The op in Portland is a milk run, like Clint said, and everything goes smoothly.

It's after that goes to hell.

The concierge takes their bags, eyeing both of them. His eyes linger longer on Coulson, and it takes all of Clint's willpower not to stiffen. His crush on his handler is just that, a crush, and he has no right to be jealous. The concierge sidles closer to Phil ( _Coulson_ dammit) and Clint makes a tight fist in his pocket.

"Can I just say, you've got the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen." The man purrs in Coulson's direction. Clint grits his teeth instead of drawing his weapon and shooting the man like he wants to. Coulson glances over, and Clint dredges up a smile. He can read the concern in the wrinkles by the older man's eyes. 

Coulson turns back to the concierge, opening his mouth to reply, no doubt with something scathing. Before he can, the other man shifts even closer, and drops a hand onto Coulson's shoulder. As Clint stiffens, so does Coulson. Clint watches the twitch of his handler's fingers and knows that the unsuspecting man almost ended up with a broken hand. If he doesn't move his appendage soon, he'll end up with one anyway, courtesy of Clint.

"You're all pressed and perfect in this suit, I'd love to find out what's underneath, make a mess of you. What do you say?" Clint can't help his angry exhale. Coulson hasn't made any move to remove the guy's hand, appears unconcerned which smarts more than the archer thought it would, and Clint can't stay around to watch any longer.

"You have fun, sir. I'll take our things to the room." Clint forces himself to swipe the bags from the concierge, and gives Coulson an exaggerated wink. It isn't very convincing, going by the way Coulson's eyes wrinkle even further. Clint doesn't react and walks to the elevator as quickly as he can. He doesn't look back and slaps the first button he sees, sighing in relief as the doors start to close.

Any longer and he would have lost it. Coulson isn't Clint's and he never will be, but sometimes the archer can delude himself, pretend he has a chance. He needs moments like this to remind him. Clint leans forward and rests his head on the wall above the buttons. He takes and releases a deep breath, telling himself it doesn't matter that Coulson won't come back to the room tonight. Tells himself that it's just a crush, and just a crush will fade in time. (Clint has had just a crush going on four years.)

It's only been seconds, and Clint's already centered and standing straight. The elevator doors are only a few inches from closing when a hand jams itself inside, stopping them from sealing. Clint's reaching for his sidearm on automatic before it registers as Phil. _Coulson_. (If he lets himself blur the lines, there is no going back.)

Clint raises an eyebrow at him, and pretends that the fluttery feeling in his stomach isn't relief. What his handler does is no business of his.

"Barton, talk to me." No one would notice the flinch except for those who knew Clint well. Natasha and Coulson. Clint averts his eyes to the wall in front of him and gives a small shake of his head.

"Negative, sir. There's nothing to talk about."

Coulson shifts and it's the most he ever gives away. Clint doesn't let himself look at his handler, and doesn't let himself read into it. Life has taught Clint that you don't get what you want. He's okay with it. Really.

Coulson doesn't say another word until they spill out of the elevator and Clint unlocks the room door. He's just shut it, tossing the bags to the right, when Coulson presses in front of him.

"Talk to me. What's going on?"

Clint rolls his eyes and leans back against the door with faked nonchalance. Every inch of space between him and his handler is a blessing. Every inch prevents him from doing something stupid.

"I'm fine, sir. Nothing's going on." 

Coulson levels a look at him.

"You're lying." His handler's voice is completely level, and to anyone else would seem unruffled, maybe even cold. But Clint knows Coulson. He can read him. There's hurt lurking in the very back of his handler's eyes and it takes everything Clint has not to rage and scream. The last thing he wants is to hurt the other man, but there's no way out of this, and Clint doesn't want to be hurt either. Coulson meets his eyes again, and resigns himself to whatever he sees there. He gives Clint a decisive nod, and turns away. The hurt is only just hidden behind his mask.

Clint has never outright lied to Coulson before. And he finds he can't.

Before Coulson has managed to completely turn away, Clint grasps him roughly by the shoulder. With a tug, Coulson is eye level with the archer. Clint leans in and savors the only time he'll be allowed to do this.

Soft, slightly chapped lips meet his, and Clint melts into the kiss. Coulson-no for right now Clint will allow himself Phil- is unresponsive, but Clint throws his all into making him understand. It's tender on Clint's half, spilling over with all the feeling his just-a-crush entails. It's ruining him, and it's nothing more than a chaste press of lips. Clint lets himself trail one hand through Phil's hair, the other cradling Phil's jaw. 

Phil remains unresponsive, and with a sinking, churning stomach, Clint makes himself pull back. He's slightly out of breath, and he isn't sure when his eyes closed. All Clint knows is that he isn't opening them again. Seeing Phil's face, disappointed, disgusted, horrified, is more than he can handle.

Clint lets his head fall forward and closes his eyes. His hands tangle in front of him, and he wrings them. The action makes him feel faintly ridiculous. He's expecting many things. Phil to hit him, Phil to ignore him, Phil to assign him elsewhere, Phil to hate him, call him names.

Clint isn't expecting the muttered _idiot_ or the strong callused palms slipping into his hair and tilting his head up. Clint doesn't dare to open his eyes, not until Phil's lips are meeting his own again. Then, they flutter open just enough to glimpse that Phil is the one kissing him, that Phil is _participating_. Clint shuts his eyes and returns the kiss, hardly chaste this time.

There will be time for talking later. Right now, Clint has a green monster to tame.

Neither of them uses the second bed that night.

*

The next day, when Clint and Phil are checking out of the hotel, the same man from yesterday, the concierge, looks their way. His eyes fall immediately on the bruise peeking out beneath Phil's shirt collar. Clint smirks, and throws an arm around Phil's shoulders. The older man rolls his eyes, but lets him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cairo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483821) by [WriteThroughTheNight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteThroughTheNight/pseuds/WriteThroughTheNight)




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